Of Brave Soldiers
by pungster
Summary: Jordan seeks Leo out after the President accepts the censure


"OF BRAVE SOLDIERS" by Pung   
  
A continuation of "H.Con.172" Rating: R for sexual situations and tiger balm   
  
DISCLAIMER: All characters except Hannah are the creation of Aaron Sorkin. I'm borrowing most of the ingredients and bringing back a Half-Baked Alaska.   
  
Tuesday, 12:45am   
  
He sat with the President while he smoked his cigarette, silently accepting the decision he did not have to make. When it was near to ash, the President stood and put the cigarette out and then wordlessly wrapped his arms around Leo.  
  
"I'm sorry, Leo." he said.   
  
"Sir..."   
  
"No, let me say it. I'm sorry I lied to you about the M.S. I'm sorry I let you try and handle this alone. I'm sorry I almost let you put your head on the block..."   
  
"Don't..."  
  
"I know," the President said, looking at Leo's face. "'Don't worry about it.' That's what you always say to me. Now it's long past time I said it myself. No matter what happens now, Leo...we still have a job to do."   
  
"If they'll let us." Leo said smiling.   
  
The president grinned back at him and smacked Leo's arm. "Let 'em try and stop us, old friend. We've got a few fights left in us."   
  
Leo looked at his friend and nodded. "Well, at least now we know what to expect. Is Abby O.K. with this?"   
  
"We talked. She's coming back from Houston tonight."  
  
"Alright, then."   
  
"Leo, I want you to take the morning off tomorrow. Sleep in."   
  
"Sir, I'll have to tell the staff about the censure..."   
  
"Tell 'em after lunch. They're not going anywhere." the President said. "I had Margaret deal with your calender. Anything pressing, Josh will handle. He'll call if he needs you, but other than that, you're persona non grata around here tomorrow morning."  
  
"That won't be necessary, Mr. President."   
  
"I say it is. You're exhausted."   
  
"Sir..."  
  
"Let me make this clear as crystal, Leo. If you show up in the West Wing tomorrow before 12:01pm, the secret service has instructions to shoot you on sight. Go home now." Without another word, the President turned and walked toward the residence. Leo stood and watched him go, and then went back to his office and gathered his things.  
  
The drive to his hotel was less than ten minutes, but in that time, Leo felt his reserves drain away. He sat in the back of the town car, thoughts bouncing around his head. The doorman at his building greeted him when he arrived.   
  
"Good evening, Mr. McGarry," he said. "Your attorney is waiting for you."   
  
Leo looked up and saw Jordan rising from the couch in the lobby, dressed casually in jeans and a soft sweater. His feelings at that moment battled between elation at seeing her, and a wish that she had not come. "Thanks, Paul." he said to the doorman as he approached Jordan. "Hello."   
  
She stood before him, holding her coat. "Are you alright?"  
  
"You heard?"  
  
"I'm your attorney, Leo. Of course I heard. Oliver called me to the meeting. I'll ask again-are you alright?"  
  
"I'm..." he stopped speaking, and his eyes were downcast as his hand came up to his temples. He stood there, his shoulders hunched, unable to continue. She put her hand on his shoulder.   
  
"Come." she said softly. He turned and followed her to the elevator.   
  
They walked into his hotel suite, and he wordlessly took her coat and hung it up. She had never seen his place, and she looked around the living room area. It was tastefully furnished, but had the air of a museum. She half expected a velvet rope.   
  
"Are you hungry?" he said behind her.   
  
"No, I'm fine. Have you eaten?"   
  
"I had something a while ago."   
  
"Knowing you, a while ago could have been this morning. But no matter-food isn't what you need right now." He smiled.   
  
"Are you saying that now that I no longer need your representation...Look-Jordan, I appreciate the thought, but I wouldn't be much use to you tonight."   
  
"I'm not talking about THAT, Leo. What you need to do tonight is relax and get some sleep. And I'm here to see that you do just that. Where's your bathroom?"   
  
"Through there." he said, gesturing toward the hallway arch. She took her bag and headed toward the hall, Leo following after. She was glad to see that there was a big tub in the master bath. She started it running, and digging a box of Epsom salts out of her bag, she added some to the water.   
  
"Get out of your clothes." she said, "When that's full, shut off the water and jump in. I'm going to fix you something."  
  
"Yes. Ma'am." he said, amused.  
  
She found the kitchen and searched for a mug. There were several with the presidential seal and she took one down and filled it with milk and a little honey. After she had warmed it in the microwave, she walked back to the bathroom and tapped on the half-opened door.   
  
"Come in." he said wearily. He was stretched out in the bathtub, the steam rising off the water.   
  
"Here." she said, "Drink this. It will help you to sleep."  
  
"What is it?" he asked, looking in the mug. "Just some milk and honey. Nectar of the Gods."   
  
He took a sip, and licked his lips. "This would be better with a little scotch in it."  
  
"Comedy is not your strong suit, Leo." she said, running a washcloth under cold water in the sink. She rung it out and laid it over his forehead.   
  
"Hmm. That feels good." he said, and took another sip.  
  
"Soak as long as you like. Prune, if necessary. When you're ready, get into your jammies."   
  
She left the bathroom, and walked back into the kitchen. She set up the coffee pot while she called her assistant asking her to cancel her morning meetings. She went around the suite, turning off the lights. A light through a half-opened door off the living room caught her eye and she walked into the room. It was Leo's study, and even at first glance, she could tell that this was where he spent most of his time. There were shelves filled with books and mementos lining three walls. A long desk where his desktop sat open, a comfortable office chair. In a corner by the window, an easy chair and an antique goose neck floor lamp. When she went to turn the lamp off, she noticed that a long credenza was covered with framed photographs. Her eyes wandered from one to another. Leo in the cockpit of a fighter jet. Leo and a baby girl, dancing in front of a Christmas tree. A crayon Father's Day card. Leo standing proudly with his Mother and two younger sisters in cap and gown, holding a diploma. A black and white picture of a man and a small boy. She recognized the family resemblance-this was Leo's father and his young son. Leo sitting on a dock in swimming trunks, wrapped around a little boy who was pointing out over the water. She knew about Nathan, lost suddenly in his seventh year. In this picture, Leo looked impossible young, and the proud smile on his face as he looked down at his son filled her with sadness. She laughed out loud at two photos that were framed together. In the first, Leo sat behind the President's desk in the Oval Office, his fingers locked behind his head, a huge cigar clenched in his teeth. Jed Bartlett stood next to him, pouring him a glass of water. In the next, taken only seconds later, the President is pouring the pitcher of water over Leo's head. They must have been filled with such a sense of hope for the future, she thought.  
  
She had no time to ponder further, for she heard Leo getting out of the tub. She shut out the light and closed the door.   
  
He was coming out of the bathroom when she came into the bedroom, dressed in a pair of pajama bottoms and a strap t-shirt.   
  
"Feeling better?" she asked.  
  
"Much." he replied, and held up his mug. "And I drank all my milk like a good boy."   
  
"Good." she said. "Now, take off that t-shirt and get into bed." He obeyed, sighing as he stretched out. She took a bottle of lotion out her bag.  
  
"Turn over on your stomach." she said as she sat on the bed.  
  
"Why?"   
  
"Leo, when I squeezed your shoulder this afternoon, your muscles were like marble. I'm going to work out the knots. Move over a bit." He turned over and she sat beside him on the bed. Pouring a dollop of lotion on her hands, she rubbed them together and spread it on his back. He laid quietly while she worked, his eyes closed. When she reached his shoulders, she leaned in and began to knead at the muscles. When the knots began to loosen, she was rewarded with a small smile playing across his lips.   
  
"Geez, that feels good." he mumbled.   
  
"Shut up, you. I'm just getting started." she said. Her fingers began to work up the back of his head and she massaged up and around to his temples and back again.   
  
"Where did you learn to DO this?" he said. She smiled and leaned in. "I don't know if I ever told you, Leo. I worked my way through law school as a geshia in a massage parlor."   
  
He chuckled. "You heard about Sam's friend?"  
  
"Where do you think she got the idea?" Jordan replied. "Relax, now." She continued to work on his tired muscles. His breathing became more even, and for a moment she thought he was asleep, but then he spoke.  
  
"I finally figured it out." he said, wearily.  
  
"Figured what out?"  
  
"Why I was so hell-bent to keep the censure from happening. Why I didn't want to admit he was wrong not to disclose the M.S."   
  
"Why?"   
  
"Because he's not the only one who lied. I lied to. That's why I couldn't get angry at him for not telling me. I had a secret of my own. I thought...I don't know...if I admitted that I had a relapse, it would somehow negate things."   
  
"Doesn't work that way, does it Pal?"   
  
"No. It doesn't."  
  
"It's done now, Leo. Let it go, and move on."  
  
"It's going to be a mess." he sighed. "The State of the Union, the re-election campaign..."   
  
"That's tomorrows mess." she whispered. "You'll be ready for it. For now, let it go. Sleep." She continued to smooth her hands over his back. Finally, she sensed that he had dropped off, and she pulled the blankets up over him.  
  
Standing at the bedroom window, she watched the snow fall. It was going on 2am, so she laid down on top of the coverlet next to him. Listening to his steady breathing, she tried to empty her mind of any thoughts of the future.  
  
His touch awoke her. Spooning next to her, his hands slipped over her body and roused her skin to heat. His lips caressed the nape of her neck, and she turned toward him. His arms went around her, and his lips found her ear.   
  
"Get under the covers." he whispered, slipping her sweater off as he spoke. Jordan obeyed. As she pulled the covers out from under her and slipped out of her jeans, his hands went around her waist, impatiently pulling her to him. She tried to relax in his arms as he kissed her, but after a moment, he broke the kiss and looked at her, his hand gently smoothing her hair back from her face.  
  
"Is this alright?" he asked softly, "I mean...is this what you want?"  
  
"Yes," she said, trying to laugh it off. "I'm just a little..."   
  
"Nervous? About me?"  
  
"No," she said, "It's not you. It's...Leo, most of the time I'm this completely self-assured, capable woman..."   
  
"So I've noticed," he said, smiling.  
  
"Yes, well...unfortunately, at times like this, there is this seventeen year old wall-flower who takes over. She's very annoying, sometimes."   
  
"Hmm." he said, still stroking her hair. "I take it she's in my bed with me right now?" Jordan nodded.   
  
In that case," he whispered softly as his finger traced the line of her jaw, "Excuse me, Miss. But may I have this dance?"   
  
If there was a moment when her heart was won, it was then. Her hand touched his cheek, and he turned his head to gently kiss her palm, as she had on Christmas Eve. And so the dance began.  
  
Lovers draw a map of each other. Their hands create and re-create the boundaries where passion resides. Leo began the journey, gently urging Jordan to follow him down this path or that. His hands traced her body, and she read the approval in his touch. His mouth followed behind, softly paying homage to her. Jordan responded, drawing closer to him, her own mouth searching. His tender coaxing led to bolder demands, and she in turn responded with demands of her own that delighted him. He sought out her most intimate secret places, and she gave over her shyness in the face of his passion, and responded with long hidden passions of her own.   
  
Finally joined, their faces close together, she searched his eyes and saw two things. The ancient look that had frightened her so was gone. And in those eyes, she saw the beauty that he had seen in her. She wrapped herself around his body, holding tight to that image. When their journeys end was in sight, he rode the cusp of her climax-pursuing it, prolonging it, and finally joining her there at their destination. They lay spooned together again as the light of approaching dawn filled the room. Her head lay in the curve of his arm, and he absently stroked her hair.   
  
"Are you O.K.?" he said finally.   
  
"I'm more than O.K." she whispered.  
  
"No more wallflower?"   
  
"I think you scared her off, or won her over-I'm not exactly sure which. It's amazes me how much energy you gained from only a few hours sleep."   
  
He chuckled, and his lips brushed her ears. "It's the miracle of Epsom's Salts and tiger balm. It also occurs to me that this administration advocates safe sex, and here we are..."   
  
"Like a couple of crazy kids?"  
  
"Yeah."   
  
"Well, pregnancy is not something we have to worry about. I had to have an blood test for an insurance policy about six months ago, and I've been-shall we say-preoccupied since. As for you, I figure any man who still wears his wedding ring after all this time was a pretty safe bet."   
  
She knew she was taking a risk saying that, and she waited for his reaction.   
  
"Does it bother you?" He asked, finally.   
  
"I haven't been in a position for it to bother me until now."  
  
"And now?"   
  
"I'd like to understand it."   
  
"For almost thirty years, it was a symbol of something. Now...it symbolizes something else."   
  
"What?"   
  
He sighed, and for a moment, she was afraid she had pressed too hard. Finally, he spoke again.   
  
"Do we have to tell all our secrets right out of the gate?" he asked gently. "I can tell you it is no threat to you."   
  
"Alright.' she replied, thinking of a secret she held from him. "I'll accept that."  
  
He caressed her, and his tone turned serious. "Jordan, you know what my life is like."   
  
"Yes."   
  
"Margaret prepares my day-at 6am, my calender is set. By 11am it's been completely re-worked. By four, it's been torn to shreds. I can never be sure what's going to happen at any given time."  
  
"So, I shouldn't expect too much from you."   
  
"I don't mean that. I WANT you in my life. But there will be times when we may have plans and..."   
  
"Leo, I'm not exactly going to be sitting by the phone waiting breathlessly for your call. I have clients all over-I'm in and out of town all the time. In fact, I'm leaving for New York this afternoon to take depositions. I won't be back until Saturday night."  
  
"So, what you're saying is..."   
  
"Our lives are our lives. Margaret and my assistant will talk to each other more than we will. Under the circumstances, with things so new for us, maybe we should concentrate on quality, instead of quantity. If we have to survive on phone calls and i.m's..."  
  
"Dirty e-mails..."   
  
She laughed out loud, and turned toward him. "No, THAT sounds like fun! We'll make the best of it. Now, you go back to sleep. I have to get up in a while, but I have no intention of waking you. This afternoon, you'll start your staff in the right direction."   
  
"Call me from New York before you go to sleep?" he said, and she was touched by the almost plaintive tone in his voice.   
  
"Without a doubt. We'll talk about our day. We'll connect. We'll have phone sex, whatever."   
  
He chuckled again, and his eyelids began to droop. She tucked her head under his chin, and closed her eyes as well. They rested there in silence, and then in sleep.  
  
EPILOGUE 8:30am  
  
Leo awoke to full sunlight, and was amazed at the time. It had been years since he slept past six, and true to her word, Jordan was gone. He put on his robe and slippers, and padded out to the kitchen, smelling the rich aroma of coffee.  
  
She had set out a mug beside the pot, and there was a note lying on top of a book next to it. He picked up the note, and saw that the book was Walt Whitman's "Leave of Grass." He found his reading glasses, and poured a cup of coffee.  
  
Dear Leo,   
  
We talked about this book on Christmas Eve. Ever since then I have been thinking of this poem. I think Walt wrote this about people like you, who's search for honor is a quest and who's bravery, spirit, and sense of duty is up to any challenge. Drink your coffee and read what Walt has to say about you. Think of me. I knew this about you before I read the poem.  
  
Jordan   
  
She did not sign it "love". and he understood why. He opened the book to the page that was marked and read.   
  
"As I ponder'd in silence  
  
Returning upon my poems,   
  
considering, lingering long,   
  
A Phantom arose before me with distrustful aspect  
  
Terrible in beauty, age, and power, The genius of poets of old lands,  
  
As to me directing like flame its eyes, With finger pointing to many immortal songs,   
  
and menacing voice,   
  
"What singest thou?" it said, "Know'st thou not there is but one theme for ever-enduring bards?   
  
And that is the theme of War, the fortune of battles,   
  
The making of perfect soldiers."  
  
Be it so, then I answer'd   
  
I too haughty Shade, also sing war,   
  
and a longer and greater one than any,   
  
Waged in my book with varying fortune, with flight, advance and retreat,   
  
victory deferr'd and wavering,   
  
(Yet methinks certain, or as good as certain, at the last,)   
  
The field, the world.  
  
For life and death, for the Body and for the eternal Soul,  
  
Lo, I too am come, chanting the chant of battles, I above all,  
  
promote brave soldiers.   
  
Leo sat for a long time at the kitchen table, thinking about the poem, thinking about Jordan, thinking what awaited him in The West Wing. The day that lay before him was filled with uncertainty, and promise. And he would take on the day as he always did. One Day At A Time. He showered and dressed, put on his favorite power tie, and went forth to do battle. 


End file.
